By the time they left the bistro it was well after nine o’clock and Mirabelle felt a lot better now she had eaten. The night air was refreshing as they hailed a taxi on the rue Saint-Honoré and Mirabelle gave the driver directions to the rue de Siam. It was late to make a social call, but the trail had led her back to Passy and, she reasoned, she’d rather return under the cover of darkness and as soon as possible. There was no advantage to be had from waiting till the following morning; in fact it only gave the Russians longer to find her. After ten minutes driving through deserted streets, the taxi pulled in smoothly just round the corner from von der Grün’s house. Quietened with a few francs, the driver turned off the engine. Mirabelle craned her neck to peer down the street to see if the house was being watched. The pavement was empty, not a single car parked along its length. Curtains were mostly drawn in the windows on both sides. Nevertheless, there was no harm in being careful.
